


Neigh's Not A Safeword

by WaterMe



Series: The SpideyPool Holiday Special [8]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Training, Banned Together Bingo 2020, Bit Gag, Blinders, Body Horror, Cock Cages, Consensual Non-Consent, Crossdressing, Dacryphilia, Dominant Wade Wilson, DubCon Drug Use, Fear Play, Fucking Machines, Heavy Bondage, Horse Cock Dildo, Kentucky Derby, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Overstimulation, Painful Sex, Pony Play, Praise Kink, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Sensory Deprivation, Spider-Man Bingo 2020, Spideypool Bingo 2020, Submissive Peter Parker, We Do The Weird Stuff, belly bulge, consensual boundary-pushing, deep penetration, gratuitous abuse of past-perfect tense, i want that spider-twink Obliterated, off-screen aftercare, poppers, “drugs: they’re one hell of a drug”
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26259679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterMe/pseuds/WaterMe
Summary: Wade looked like a goddamn wet dream. Take the mean Daddy Dom of Peter’s dreams and the terrifyingly vicious Dominatrix of his nightmares, and then make those people thesame person,and also make themPeter’s boyfriend,who was about to doterrible and wonderful things to him.(We're off to the races, and it's a marathon, not a sprint.)Fill for Banned Together Bingo: 'Includes "Penis"'Fill for Spider-Man Bingo: 'Pet Play'Fill for Spideypool Bingo: 'Mirror Sex'
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: The SpideyPool Holiday Special [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705225
Comments: 29
Kudos: 163
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020, Isn't it Bromantic?, Spideypool Bingo 2020 Round 2, i want that spider-twink Obliterated





	Neigh's Not A Safeword

**Author's Note:**

> **Content Warning:** (stop if you don't want spoilers!) See closing notes for more details.
> 
> Check the endnotes for a rambling, self-indulgent story about how this work came to be (tl;dr: It's all the ['Isn't It Bromantic'](https://discord.com/invite/CyX5Dgy) server's fault).
> 
> Thank you to [Atemy](https://atemy.tumblr.com/) for the beta! <3
> 
> I'm on Tumblr, and you can [reblog this thing](https://waterme-stories.tumblr.com/post/628644809936158720/fic-neighs-not-a-safeword) if you want to out yourself as a gigantic pervert.  
> 

This… wasn’t quite what Peter had expected when Wade had asked to do pony play.

There had been a small, optimistic part of him that hoped maybe _Wade_ would want to be the pony. It wasn’t likely, he knew. Not with Wade taking the reins on planning. But… Peter was a city slicker, New York born and raised, and that meant that he’d always secretly dreamed of being a horse boy. The idea of playing the spoiled little prince while Wade carried him around a sunny meadow held more appeal than he cared to admit in polite company.

Knowing the possibilities of that were slim, he had still held out hope that maybe _he’d_ get to be the one frolicking around that meadow: nibbling on clover, the sun kissing his tan shoulders as he tossed his majestic mane. Little hooves. Little ears. Cute little leather harness. Possibly an adorably delicate horsehair plug.

The humiliatingly detailed prep instructions should have ruled all that out. Also the fact that they were still in their apartment. But stranger things had happened! Wade had been known to throw a red herring (or five) into his scene instructions. Maybe he just wanted to make sure Peter took care of his colonic health before they headed off to pony playtime.

Anyway, all this added up to the fact that maybe Peter shouldn’t have been so surprised to find himself face-to-face with a big, black, silicone _horse dick._

It was girthy.

It was _upsettingly_ long.

Peter whimpered around the thick rubber bit gag digging into the sides of his mouth. Some small, sane part of his brain was wondering if it was time to safeword. 

He wasn’t _quite_ there.

See, the thing was… when Wade had casually suggested they try pony play just around the corner from the Kentucky Derby, Peter's second guess — after frolicking in meadows, of course — had been something ludicrously slapstick. He’d definitely spotted a few costume-shop hats shoved up in the back corner of the closet, and one of those horrifying rubber horse head masks stuffed under the bed. On their last grocery trip, Wade had furtively acquired a truly suspicious amount of mint.

Now that he thought it through, maybe _those_ had been the red herrings…

Because by the time the bedroom door opened, Peter didn't feel even a little bit slapstick. No, he felt fuzzy. Slow. _Available._ Squeaky clean outside and in, a blank slate for whatever whims Wade had in mind. He’d been on his knees, as instructed, for almost an hour, his brain slowly melting until it was reduced to a soft, staticky goo. The door opened and he looked up blearily, and —

Whoa. 

Wade looked fucking _amazing._

Peter’s eyes dragged across a snappy pair of Louboutins, up strong calves shimmering under sheer black stockings, over a perfectly-tailored sheath dress that looked like it had cost more than their rent, and finally up to a swoopy, ethereal hat that could only be described as _art._

It could easily have been ridiculous.

It wasn’t, not even a little bit. Wade looked like a goddamn wet dream. Like Irene Adler had been dabbling with steroids and they _really_ agreed with her. Like someone had taken the mean Daddy Dom of Peter’s dreams and the terrifyingly vicious Dominatrix of his nightmares, and then made those people the _same person,_ and also made them _Peter’s boyfriend,_ who was about to do _terrible and wonderful things to him._

“Please,” he’d whimpered, a hurt little sound wrenched from his throat.

Wade’s makeup was flawless (of course), and he’d raised one exquisite eyebrow, running a fingertip over the tastefully bedazzled riding crop in his hands, and oh my _god_ he had a riding crop and Peter was in _trouble._

Because the way Wade had sucked in a breath when Peter's mouth opened and _'Yes, Ma’am,’_ had slipped out, the way his cheeks had pinked up under his powder, well — Peter would have done just about anything Wade said, in that moment. 

Which was where the horse cock came in. 

Well, no, before that was the sex sling that Wade had somehow managed to sneak in and install in the middle of their living room. And the heavy leather arm-binder that was squeezing Peter's elbows tight behind his back. The binder had come first, and as each buckle cinched, Peter felt more and more vulnerable to the rest of Wade's whims and fancies.

At least he got his cute little leather harness. Unfortunately, it was very localized in the vicinity of his crotch. Even more unfortunately, it came attached to an evil steel cock cage. Peter was opening his mouth to express his uncertainty when he just happened to notice, as Wade brandished the cage, that Wade’s broad, blunt nails were painted the exact shade as his delicate hat. Peter's protests died on his lips.

Peter couldn’t say why he was so fascinated with the glossy polish, or why it was so thrilling that he caught the faint taste of acetone when Wade shoved the cage inside his mouth. The cage got slicked with spit while Peter got hard and wet with humiliation.

Before he knew it he’d been subjected to the indignity of the cock cage. This had taken a brisk and embarrassing application of ice to get things soft enough to lock down, along with a few horrifyingly precise smacks with the riding crop. Suitably humbled, he’d ducked his head under Wade’s strong fingers and opened his mouth obediently for the thick rubber bit. He'd only given the teeniest of whimpers when Wade attached the blinders to the head harness. And once they were on, he _had_ felt calmer. Only one thing to focus on — his Ma’am, and whatever his Ma’am wanted of him.

He’d still shimmied nervously and tossed his head when Wade brought out a particularly cruel set of nipple clamps. Wade had held him by the neck with a firm hand as he attached them, and then Peter quivered until the little silver bells tinkled.

By the time Wade had hoisted him face-up into the sling, Peter had been stupid with it. He’d preened as Wade ran soothing hands down his flanks, attaching his ankles to cuffs near the ceiling, praising Peter in a ceaseless monologue of how _strong_ he was, how _good,_ how _pretty._ A quick safeword check (three sharp sounds around the gag), and then Peter was at Wade's mercy. 

The first plug was nice. Wade slid it in easily, rocking with gentle surety until Peter relaxed back into his bonds with a sigh. Wade pet him in a gentle, hypnotic rhythm, and Peter’s eyes slid closed.

He didn’t bother to open them when the plug slid out, although he did suck in a sharp breath when it was replaced. The second plug was big, bigger than Wade’s cock, Peter was sure. He had to take deep, steady breaths as Wade worked him open.

Once it was firmly seated, his hips bucked up. He groaned as his cock shifted and hardened between the steel bars. He’d been half-hard the entire time, the pain from the cage the only thing keeping him from reaching full arousal. But the sting and stretch of the plug, the thought of Wade’s cock in his ass while he was trussed up and helpless — it had him thrusting up and then uttering a muffled cry at the sweet agony of a hard cock with nowhere to expand, and no friction to provide relief.

“That’s it,” Wade soothed. “You can have it, pretty boy.”

His fingers were firm on the base of the plug, and Peter squirmed restlessly, nudging it back and forth inside of himself, working himself to a froth.

 _I need it,_ he tried to make his fluttering eyes say. _Want you. Keep me._

Wade cursed and pulled the plug out with a thoughtless tug. Peter spasmed, but couldn’t keep his eyes off the hard bulge ruining the lines of Wade’s gorgeous dress, or the broad planes of his scarred thighs as he rolled the hem of the dress up until his cock sprang free.

“This was _not_ the plan,” he muttered as he slid home, immediately setting a brisk pace. Peter’s eyes rolled back. He felt a sudden swell in his gut and suddenly he was close, so close, so close that he might be able to… just a little more… His cock pressed painfully against the cage and he looked at Wade with big, pleading eyes. 

Wade was good with his mouth, _so_ damn good, in more ways than one. In _all_ the ways. If there was one person in the world who could talk him into an orgasm right now, it would be Wade. Peter would come screaming, cock bruising against metal, spurting through the bars like a sprinkler. It would hurt like hell, but it would be glorious. He’d hate it, he needed it, _please._ A few words of praise, a firm command. A little push, just a brush, maybe even just a single _word._

“You wanna come, baby? Come on my cock, just from me fucking you?” asked Wade. “Mmm, no.”

Peter wailed, distorted and gurgling around the gag. Wade didn’t slow down, and the pressure building in Peter just kept building without release. Even if he’d wanted to disobey, he physically couldn’t get over that edge on his own. Not without Wade's help. Not without Wade’s permission.

Peter keened and twisted, his ears full of his own stifled cries and the rhythmic slap of flesh and the tinkling of the little bells that adorned his aching nipples. 

With a final, savage thrust, Wade pulled out and came on Peter with a shout. Peter sighed and relaxed as it spattered his chest and neck. Wade massaged the hot drops into Peter's skin with painstaking attention, as if to make extra sure that Peter would smell like him. When he stepped back, Peter whimpered sadly.

Wade was busy putting himself back together, smoothing down his dress and patting at his mascara with a handkerchief (and who just had a _handkerchief?)._ “That was a fun diversion,” he said, “but I think you’re gonna regret it, honey bunch.”

The third plug made Peter regret a _lot_ of things, and the sting of fresh lube on enthusiastically-fucked tissues? Definitely one of them.

Wade wasn’t cruel with it, but he was as utilitarian as he’d been about everything else. He wasn’t here to tempt and tease. He was here to be obeyed, to use his possession as he saw fit. He worked the plug in slowly but surely, twisting and pushing against Peter’s protesting hole, _tsking_ each time he pulled back to try a different approach.

Eventually, he pulled it all the way out, and Peter sighed with relief. It was clearly too big. Maybe they could go back to the medium plug, the one with the perfect girth and weight to keep Peter full and happy. 

Peter was apparently feeling _dangerously_ optimistic today. 

Wade fiddled under Peter, attaching the plug to the frame, and then he pushed Peter and the sling back, off-balance, lining them up until the tip of the plug nudged at Peter’s entrance. “You ready?” he asked. Peter looked at him, looked at his hands on the straps of the sling, felt the plug broad and unyielding beneath him. Oh, _no._ He shook his head desperately, breathing fast through his nose. 

Wade let him go.

Peter scrabbled his bound legs desperately, pressing back into the sling in an attempt to keep himself off the plug. Wade caught his eye. 

"Do it for me, good boy?" 

Peter gulped. He took a deep breath and relaxed, slid down just a bit, and then squeaked as he pressed back up, frantically shaking his head no.

“Hmm.” Wade pursed his lips. “You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that.”

The crop came down, _smack,_ on Peter’s abs and he jolted, the plug burrowing just a tiny bit deeper. He whined in terror. _Smack,_ a hit to the thigh, and then a breath of air somewhere a lot more sensitive — _no, not there —_ and then his balls burned with a new welt, and Peter thrashed hard and lost the fight.

The burning, stinging stretch was unrelenting as his body opened abruptly around the widest point of the plug, his flailing struggles only hastening the inevitable. Every muscle from his thighs to his sternum locked up, and his cock swelled, and the cage bit cruelly, and then he was over the edge, crunching up, twisting in agonized ecstasy as his ass tightened impossibly around the plug. His body was a scream of _pain-pleasure-pain,_ and all he’d wanted was to come, but once he was coming he had the sudden, wild fear of _what if he never stopped?_

The orgasm rang through his body for ages, letting off in fits and starts, new muscles engaging as worn out muscles gave out with a sudden rush. His abs were spasming and his ass felt torn in half and his cock was on fire in the cage, but every movement still extended the orgasm, each twitch sparking another zing of overwhelming pleasure. 

He slowly came back to, catching his breath in little fits and starts through his nose. He opened his eyes, gasping as even that movement set off an echo of sensation.

Wade was looking at him with an intensity that Peter couldn't parse. 

_Fuck._

He was in _so_ much trouble.

 _“Fuck,”_ said Wade. “That was _so_ hot.”

He ran the tip of one manicured finger up Peter’s cock, tracing the skin through the line of the cage. Peter jolted with a muffled cry. Wade had a look on his face like he was about to do something terrible, and Peter held his breath, and all he could think was _want, want, want._

Then, Wade pulled back, shaking with the effort to stay in control. Peter whined. “Okay,” Wade said, taking a deep breath. And then, “Okay,” again. “Think it’s time for a little cooldown.”

He settled a black pillowcase over Peter’s eyes and tucked it into the straps. Peter let his eyes slip shut, making a sleepy, confused sound around the gag. He felt Wade’s lips brush the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be close by,” he heard, and then headphones were settling over his ears, white noise buzzing until the world stopped existing for a while.

Peter might have dozed off a little, as strange as it seemed to fall asleep bound, pried open with a gag and a giant plug. But there was nowhere to go and nothing to look at and nothing to do, and so the only thing to do was dangle until every muscle in his body was loose and his brain was slow and stupid. 

When Wade’s hands came back onto his body, he mumbled happily. Even when Wade’s clever fingers played with the base of the plug, pushing it into him, fucking him with it, he could barely bring himself to squirm and whimper. He just felt heavy, and happy. The fabric was pulled from his eyes, and he blinked dopily into the light, up at Wade.

Wade cooed. “There’s my precious boy. All relaxed and happy for his Mistress, hmm?” and Peter could only hum and nod.

And then he was being turned, the sling rotated, and the happy, fuzzy feelings evaporated, just a tad.

Wade really had been busy. He’d jury-rigged a mirror from the ceiling, somehow at just the right angle that Peter, reclined, could see down his entire body. And oh, it was a sight. Pink-rimmed eyes, mouth straining around the gag, drool pooling on his chin. His chest was pulled open and exposed by the tight sleeve binding his arms, and his nipples were red and angry under the evil little clamps and sweet little bells. The black leather harness laced delicately across his hips and up to his waist, then back down to the shiny cage, where his cock strained desperately against the metal. On his belly, a pool of ejaculate gleamed, sticky and shameful. 

All of this made an undeniably erotic sight, even to him (in the midst of the pain and humiliation). But it was overshadowed by what was between his legs.

A fucking machine.

And, with it…

The horse cock dildo.

Peter’s eyes rolled as Wade brought it up and into view. He didn't want to see it, but Wade smacked his cheek, yanked his head to the side, and forced him face-to-face with it.

It was distressingly realistic, from the ludicrously weighty testicles, to the thick, bunched up preputial sheath, to the veiny shaft, and all the way to the conical glans.

Peter regretted that he knew this. He regretted taking that Equine Science class as his Bio elective sophomore year of undergrad (and not just because it had been an unsuccessful bid to get into the pants of that cute pre-vet barista). He regretted… many things, right at this moment.

The equine monster was as long as Wade’s forearm, at least, and Wade made that _very_ clear as he draped it diagonally across his arm, putting it on display. It tapered, but by the time it got to the base it was almost as wide as a soda can. And… the head. God, the head of that thing was fucking _flared,_ and _blunt,_ and even if he had taken wider things, there was no way something that size and shape was going to fit.

Peter’s heart raced, and his chest heaved, and he begged Wade with his eyes and with his everything. He couldn’t. He _couldn’t._

Wade pursed his perfectly mauve lips. “Settle, baby boy. Do you remember what we’ve been working on, my pretty pony?” he asked, and he laid the damn thing on Peter’s belly and it went up to his _sternum, fuck,_ there was no fucking _way._

_Depth,_ thought Peter, and, _No, please, no._

Because, yes, they'd been doing depth training. Together. As a couple. For fun. Depth training was languid afternoons spent in bed with massage oil and sex tutorial videos, giggling as they twisted each other into pretzels to find that perfect angle to get just a half inch more. This — this was helpless and terrified, staring at something impossibly wide and long. And it wasn’t going to be his loving partner controlling the experience. It was a cold machine, with no regard for pain or begging or intestinal perforation.

Wade tutted. “And here I thought you’d like it, pretty boy. I know you think you're a big, bad stallion, but we all know you’re a size queen. It’s not good for a feisty thing like you to be running around all unsatisfied. I need to take care of my boy.”

As he spoke, he was moving around Peter, running soothing hands over his body, attaching that horrible, horrifying thing to the machine and lining everything up.

“Now, you know I don’t mind doing things the old fashioned way. Your Mistress isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, is she?” Peter couldn’t acknowledge the words, could barely hear them for the ringing in his ears. He got a sharp _smack_ to the thigh for his trouble. “Pay attention, you dumb thing. Is your Ma’am afraid to get elbow deep if it gets the job done?”

“Mm-mmm,” Peter forced out, and once he was saying _no_ he couldn’t stop, desperate whines and grunts that meant _no, please, stop, have mercy,_ **_please._ **

“Mmhmm,” hummed Wade. “You know I’d pull on those shoulder-length veterinary gloves if that was what was best for my best boy. But what a chore, right? We make machines for that now. Better living through science.” He leaned down to plant a sweet, waxy kiss on Peter’s temple. “I know how you feel about science.”

Tears slid out the corners of Peter’s eyes as he watched Wade’s movements in the mirror. A faint part of him still clung to the hope that it was all a joke… that any second now, Wade would put that awful thing away and just fuck him again.

Then Wade was pulling out the plug, and it _burned,_ and _stung,_ and if that’s what a gently flared object of that size felt like coming _out,_ there was no way the broad, flat head of that dick was going _in._ But Wade was flipping the machine on to a gentle pulse and pressing the dildo against Peter’s terrified asshole. Peter thrashed, trying to get away. Then he jerked, because Wade was suddenly at his side holding a handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth, and his senses were assaulted with a smell, sharp and acrid, _no, wait, what?_ And then his entire body relaxed with a rush.

The tip of the dildo popped in. Peter giggled. His heart was pounding and his head was spinning and he felt so _good,_ just what had he been so afraid of? This thing was _amazing._

 _Poppers,_ his mind hazily supplied.

He’d been drugged.

It was the funniest thing that had _ever_ happened to him.

Wade cooed, stroking Peter’s hair. “There we are, pretty thing. You just needed a little help, hmm?” Peter butted hard against his hand, cheeks flushed.

Time stretched a little as he stretched around the dildo. It nudged its way in with gentle, shallow thrusts. This fucking machine was his favorite. He relaxed back and shimmied, trying fruitlessly to work himself further onto the dick. 

Slowly, the buzzing in his ears receded, and the world got a little sharper around the edges. The euphoria drifted off and the headache drifted in.

Motherfucking _poppers._

He’d been _drugged._

He couldn’t think well enough right now to plan his revenge, but Wade was going to have many, _many_ regrets at some point in the near future.

At least his ass was still relaxed around the toy. This was a mercy, because the machine was still keeping up its lazy thrusts into his body. He was _sore,_ and he’d be even more sore tomorrow, and the sensation was more of a queasy discomfort than the euphoric pleasure it had been moments before.

Wade appeared in his vision and fiddled with the machine.

Peter made a questioning sound. _More?_

Wade booped his nose. “No more. Don’t wanna kill those precious brain cells.”

Peter looked at the length of the dildo that was _not_ yet in him, and at the look in Wade’s eyes, and thought about taking all the rest of the damn thing without even the mercy of recreational sex drugs, and he started to cry.

Wade curled around him, licked the tears off his face, murmured nice things into his neck, told him how good he was doing, massaged his belly.

He didn’t turn off the machine.

It had some kind of pattern programmed in — soft, gentle thrusts that slowly got longer and deeper, and then harder and faster until Peter was shouting, stiff with terror. And then backing off, gentling up, but each soft thrust went deeper, deeper, deeper. Peter felt sick with it, bloated and full.

He couldn’t even hang on for dear life, or scrabble with his hands for a token attempt at control — not with his arms strapped behind him, not with his knees pushed back by the sling. The machine was in control of his every movement, fucking so deep it felt like it was controlling his every _breath._

“I know it’s hard,” Wade murmured. “I know you don’t want to. You’re doing _so_ well.”

 _Why?_ Peter tried to ask, drool streaming around the gag and down his chin. _Why do I have to?_ And then the machine sped up and all he could think was _stretch_ and _full_ and _terror._

The machine finally slowed to a stop, and Wade nudged at Peter’s head. Peter blearily opened his eyes. 

“You did it,” Wade whispered. “Precious boy, you took it all, look.”

Peter didn’t _want_ to look, he didn’t want to see, he let his eyes skim and dance over the mirror so he wouldn’t have to, but Wade was yanking him by the hair and pointing his head down so he could see the machine between his legs. His cock was dark red in the cage, drooling all over his belly. As if on cue, the machine pulled out and out and out, and god, he felt like his intestines were being reversed. And then it pushed _all_ the way back in, fast enough to be truly alarming, and then Peter screamed and tried to twist away, and he couldn’t move away, but he could _scream,_ because…

“Mmhmm,” whispered Wade. “Been doing that for a while.”

Peter could see the dildo moving in his body.

He could _see_ it in _side of him._

The machine started a round of short, deep thrusts, and Peter saw his belly bulge up with each one, could see the head of the horse cock outlined through his abs, sickeningly visible, as if internal organs were just a suggestion.

Wade was adjusting the sling, propping Peter’s head up so that his vision was full of the horror that was being inflicted on his body. “There we go,” he cooed. “Perfect view for the rest of your milking. Gotta get it all out, you know? You just stay here and stay good for me, okay, good boy?”

And what, _no,_ where was Wade going, he couldn't just _leave_ Peter like this — 

And the headphones were coming over Peter’s ears, and he was literally wearing blinders, and somehow Wade had piped in a feedback loop so all he could hear with the sick, slick sound of the giant, silicone dick as it slid in and out of his ass.

 _Wade?_ he tried to call, muffled by the gag and by spit and by his aching jaw. _Wade, please, please, I can’t, please come let me out._

He watched.

He cried.

Wade let him stew in it long enough that Peter was starting to worry that he'd actually left. 

When he came back, it was to fuss over Peter — to wipe the sweat off his brow with a cool washcloth, and apply more lube, and to rub warm, heavy circles on Peter’s belly, grounding him against the queasy, unsettling movement deep in his guts. Peter, so ungrateful, put up a fuss. He cried around the gag, pleading with his eyes, and he thrashed as much as he could without jostling the dildo (not that that was a lot). Wade just called him _‘sweet boy,’_ and left again. Peter’s sad eyes followed him until he left the limited range of the mirror. 

Peter sobbed harder, then, really let himself wail. It wasn’t _fair._ It wasn’t fair that he was strung up and stuffed full like this, that he was so incapacitated that he couldn’t even properly beg for mercy. It wasn’t fair that, despite his misery, his cock was still trying to get hard and pressing painfully against the cage. It wasn’t fair that his jaw was straining, and his nipples throbbing. He just wanted a nice day with his sweetie in a field of clover. Was that so much to ask? And instead, he was here suffering, and Wade didn’t even have the decency to be by his side soothing him through it (or at the very least getting loudly and gratuitously off on his misery).

He sobbed. Wade didn’t come.

He was dizzy with it by the time Wade finally came back, and he keened the second those stylish pumps entered his view in the mirror. Wade didn’t acknowledge him. His eyes were glued to his phone.

He was… Wade was taking a video, and he was taking his time to really capture the moment, too. He zoomed right in on Peter’s asshole, slowly drizzling lube on the abused, stretched flesh. He made sure to get the belly bulge from every angle, at every speed. Hot waves of anger and humiliation washed over Peter, filling his chest until he quivered with it. Wade ignored him, bringing the phone to frame his nipples, and flicking the bells as he screamed and screamed. 

Finally, Wade got to Peter’s face. With a tender look, he removed the headphones. Peter gasped in surprise as the world rushed back in, ears ringing. He had forgotten how muffled he was. Wade knelt beside him, cheek-to-cheek, and switched the phone to selfie mode.

Peter… didn’t want to see himself. Not like this. Not so close up. He was bright red and puffy, snot and drool running down his face, the definition of ugly crying. And Wade looked even more gorgeous in comparison. He was too perfect to even touch something as gross as Peter. Peter hiccupped, stunned into miserable silence.

“Do you want to know a secret, pretty boy?” Wade's voice was meandering, hypnotic. “I know how much you hate this. I know how much you want it to be over. You don’t need to tell me, with your pretty sad sounds and your pretty sad eyes. _I know._ I know you’re terrified. I know you hate me a little right now. More than a little, even.”

Peter whimpered, wide-eyed, as Wade nudged gently against his cheek.

“But it isn’t going to stop. You know this one, good boy. You know I love to watch you suffer. Ma’am wants you to, and so you’re going to. Are you gonna keep fighting it, or are you gonna let it happen?”

Peter swallowed hard, and his eyes drifted closed, and then he leaned his cheek to press heavy against Wade’s.

“Mmhmm. That’s my best boy.” Peter felt a tingle of pleasure down his spine, a counterpoint to the squirming sense of wrongness in his belly.

Wade bundled him up in the headphones again, and gave him some luxurious strokes and pets, and then he was gone.

Peter let himself drift. He didn’t know if Wade was watching him or ignoring him; if he was still filming Peter’s debasement, if he was jerking off, or if he had left to go to the corner store. Everything still hurt — the strain on his jaw and his shoulders, the pinch on his nipples, the bite of the cage. The raw, oversensitive stretch, and the sickening, thrusting fullness. Tears still streamed down his temples, and he still couldn’t help but sniffle quietly to himself. But he couldn’t stop what was happening to him, couldn’t control it. He could only endure, and try to focus on the feeling of being used. To accept that he was so thoroughly owned that he didn’t have a single say in what happened to him, and to find that thought a comfort, rather than a terror.

He didn’t know how long he was there, but he knew his world brightened when Wade came back. It must have shown on his face, because Wade broke into a smile. He took the headphones off and gently unbuckled the gag, handling Peter’s head to remove it when he found Peter's jaw too cramped to release it. He dug his thumbs hard against the joints, and Peter cried out softly in agony and relief. Then Wade was reaching for the clamps, and Peter barely had time for the terror to build back up before they were unclamped, and he screamed as the blood rushed back in and the nerves woke back up. Wade leaned in and let him sob hot against his neck, cooed soothing nothings into his ear.

He wiped Peter down with a cool cloth, gave him sips of mint-infused water (and, okay, that was _incredibly_ pleasant).

Finally, he just sat and looked at Peter, petting soothingly over his sweaty forehead.

“How we doing, best boy?”

Peter’s mouth opened, then closed, unused to speaking and unsure how to start. “Good,” he finally managed to croak out. “Good, Ma’am.”

Wade hummed. “You know, I did _not_ expect to be that into you calling me _Ma'am._ ” He gave Peter another sip of water, while Peter smiled and enjoyed feeling floaty. Even the fucking machine didn’t seem as bad with Wade beside him.

After a while, Wade sat up and sighed. “Anything else to say for yourself, sweet thing?”

Peter shook his head. “No, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am.” He felt Wade’s hand on his face, thumb pushing between his teeth to pry his jaw open.

His eyes flew open, his noise of terror cut off abruptly by the gag as it was placed back in his mouth. He whined.

Wade ran a soothing hand over his cheek.

“Oh, no, pretty boy. You thought we were done?” With a touch of a button, the machine sped back up to life. Peter wailed. “You’ve got plenty of spirit left in you, yet…”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :D Uh....... tell me what you thought? If you want a good reference for a horse dick dildo (and honestly, who doesn't?), [here ya go.](https://bad-dragon.com/products/chanceflared) Don't say I never gave you nothing.
> 
> The muses didn't see fit for me to write aftercare for this one, and I don't argue with them. Please imagine Wade cleaning Peter up and feeding him snacks and putting a ring of roses on him and just generally ‘not being a terrible human being’ (because he isn’t).
> 
> Kink-mom feels compelled to say that leaving someone in extreme bondage for this long is ill-advised (especially arm bondage--need those arm nerves in good working order to web-sling, yo). And having someone tilted back with a drooly gag is also unwise. Also, Wade made Peter think he was alone and abandoned so he could feel properly woeful over it, but he was close by the entire time. Never leave a bound person alone, not even just to go to the other room, not even for a minute. 😘
> 
> **And for those who want to stick around for the long, gratuitous DVD extra...**
> 
> Way back in May of this year, I was about to go to bed and figured... eh... one last little peek at my phone couldn't hurt (famous last words). And behold! A notification appeared before me from the #nsfw-offtopic room! My face became the 'eyes' emoji personified (👀), and before I knew it, I was in it to win it. You see, somebody had discovered that _belly bulge is an actual thing that can happen to actual human beings in real life._
> 
> Now, maybe you already know this. My partner, who apparently watches a _lot_ of prolapse porn (The More You Know), laughed his ass off when I expressed my horrified delight. But man. I used to run sex parties, which means I have seen a _lot_ of people fuck in real life, but I never saw it? I guess I just wasn't looking for it?
> 
> So there we are. It's 2am. We're all looking up references on PornHub (search 'belly bulge,' it's honestly cool as hell, the human body is amazing). We're giving people shit for belly bulging Peter in past fics. We're making comparisons to whisking eggs. And I'm sitting here like... shit... now I have to write this.
> 
> See, the thing is--and you may or may not believe this, but the thing is--one of my goals in the SpideyPool Holiday Special is realism. Hitting those kinks that are too out-there bonkers for anyone to _ever_ believe are real things that people might do... except then they _are,_ and I _have done them myself, or know people personally who have done them._ Maybe you need to be an Olympic-level Sexlete to do them, but with practice and elbow grease, they're achievable. So when I found out about this belly bulge thing and started asking around, well. Turns out I know a guy who knows a guy (or two... or three) who knows a horse cock dildo, if ya know what I mean ;D (...biblically)
> 
> Anyway, I wrote a few notes (including 'GIANT HORSE COCK. Kentucky Derby??? horrifying rubber horse head as hood'), and sent it to my 'Ideas' folder, where so many good ideas go to die. Because there are a lot of holidays, and ya girl is _busy._
> 
> Except then, in early August, a _different someone_ posted this video of [a human getting machine fucked with a 22.5 inch tentacle.](https://twitter.com/CavernousCuntFF/status/1270494815512178690) And I looked at my calendar, and looked at the things I wanted to write in August and September, and went... fuck it. This is more important.
> 
> Long story short, belly bulge is real (and if I have to know it, so do you), and you should definitely join 'Isn't It Bromantic' if you, like me, enjoy learning about new fetishes more than you enjoy sleeping.
> 
>  **Content Warning:** Consensual non-consent: This features heavy fear play and realistic consensual non-consent (but still consensual) Dubcon drug use: Wade administers a dose of poppers (alkyl nitrites) without warning or negotiation. Peter is irritated, but not overly upset. It’s not clear if this is something they have tried before, if it's something that was previously negotiated and explicitly ‘on the table,’ or if it it’s a complete surprise. Off-screen aftercare: What it says on the tin. Aftercare is not shown.


End file.
